The scentless Omega

Chapter 2

Lyra’s Pov

Penumbra is nothing like the peaceful city I imagined.

The streets are crowded, the buildings tower over us, and everyone moves like they're late for something important. Nobody looks at us. Nobody asks why two strangers have arrived with one bag between them and desperation written all over our faces. In Lynx, people stared. Here, we're not even worth staring at.

As long as I have Zach, I can manage.

We follow the crowd toward the castle, where the coronation is already underway. Golden decorations glitter under the sunlight, so bright it hurts to look at them, and guards stand in neat rows along the entrance like statues in dark uniforms.

I crane my neck, trying to see past the shoulders in front of me. "Can you see anything?"

"I can see the back of a very large man," Zach says. "That's it."

Then the crowd erupts into cheers.

The new king steps forward.

Damien Blackthorn.

He's tall — taller than anyone around him — with forest-green hair and pale green eyes that look sharp enough to cut through anyone who dares meet them. His royal clothes fit him far too well, dark and severe, and he carries himself like he owns the ground he's standing on. The crowd roars, and he doesn't smile. Doesn't blink. Just stands there, still as a painting.

I stare for a moment.

So that's the evil Alpha king everyone keeps talking about.

I lean toward Zach. "Well. At least he's handsome. What a waste — imagine being that good-looking and still being evil."

Zach gives me a disbelieving look. "Can you stop judging people by their faces for five minutes?"

"I'm not judging him. I'm appreciating his face."

"You called him evil."

"Because he is. His face is just unfortunate evidence to the contrary."

Zach shakes his head, fighting a smile, and I feel a small spark of victory. It's the first time he's almost smiled since we left home.

I turn back to the ceremony.

The king is about to be crowned when something tightens inside my chest.

I suck in a breath. What was that?

A strange ringing fills my ears, growing louder until I can barely hear the crowd. A deep howl rises inside my head — not a sound, but a feeling, something ancient and furious shaking itself awake inside me. I don't understand it. I don't have a wolf. I've never had a wolf.

My vision blurs at the edges.

I reach for Zach's arm. "Zach…"

He turns at once, and his face changes — the smile gone, his red eyes going wide. "Lyra? What's wrong?"

I try to answer, but the words won't come. My knees fold. The ground tilts.

"Lyra!" His hands catch my shoulders, then my waist, then he's holding me up and I can feel him shaking. "Hey — hey, look at me. Look at me. Somebody help! Somebody help me!"

His voice sounds so far away.

The last thing I see is Zach's face above mine, terrified, his mouth still moving — before everything goes black.

Elsewhere on the royal grounds, the ceremony falters.

The new king's hand tightens around the ceremonial staff until his knuckles blanch. A sudden, unbearable pressure strikes his chest, and his breath catches — a sound like a rope snapping, deep in his ribs. For one long moment, Damien Blackthorn looks as though he might collapse where he stands.

The elder pauses mid-blessing. "Your Majesty?"

Damien doesn't answer. His pale eyes sweep the crowd, searching, and something raw moves behind them before he locks it away again.

"Continue," he says. His voice doesn't shake. Nothing about him shakes.

But whispers spread through the nobles like fire through dry grass, and the guards rush forward. The coronation is cut short, the crowd ordered to disperse with hard hands and harder voices. No one explains what happened.

I'm already unconscious.

When I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the smell of herbs. Sharp, green, a little bitter.

The second thing is the ache in my head.

I blink at the pale ceiling above me, then slowly turn my face. A healer stands beside the bed, sorting through bottles with quick, practiced fingers. And Zach is asleep in a chair nearby, his arms folded awkwardly across his chest, his head tipped at a bad angle.

His eyes are swollen. Tear tracks mark his cheeks like dried rivers.

Honestly. What a crybaby.

The thought brings a faint smile to my face.

"Zach," I whisper.

He doesn't move.

"Zach."

He jolts awake so hard he nearly falls off the chair. "Lyra!"

Before I can react, he's leaning forward and grabbing my hand, looking me over like he expects me to vanish if he blinks. His fingers are cold and they're trembling.

"You're awake. Are you all right? Does anything hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Should I call the healer? I'll call the healer—"

"Zach. Breathe."

He stops. His mouth stays open.

I give him a weak smile. "I'm fine."

"You collapsed in front of an entire crowd!"

"And I'm still here."

"That doesn't make it better!"

The healer approaches before Zach can keep going, wiping their hands on a cloth. "You're fortunate. There's no lasting damage that I can find."

I push myself up slightly. "Then can I have my suppressors?"

The healer pauses. "Your what?"

"My suppressors." I gesture at my belongings, sitting in a heap on the floor. "The bottle should be there. My mother always makes sure I take them."

The healer retrieves the bottle and turns it over, reading the label. Then they look back at me. "How long have you been taking these?"

"Since I was little."

"And why?"

I frown. Isn't it obvious? "My mother told me I needed them."

The healer studies me for a long moment, then sets the bottle aside. "Your body appears healthy. I can't find any ordinary illness that explains what happened to you. But I suspect these suppressors may be causing problems."

I stare at them. "Problems? They've never caused me problems."

"Suppressors can have side effects, particularly when used for a long time." They tap the bottle once. "And judging by your reaction at the coronation, your body may be rejecting them."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I don't have pheromones to suppress."

The healer's eyebrows lift. "What makes you think that?"

"Because I don't have any."

For a moment, the healer says nothing. Then they let out a small, incredulous laugh — not unkind, just stunned. "My dear. These suppressors prevent your pheromones from being released. They don't prove you have none."

My mouth falls open.

"But—"

"Your reaction at the coronation may have been caused by your mate being nearby." They say it like it's simple. Like it's ordinary. "A first encounter with a mate can trigger a powerful response. Your body may have reacted before you even understood what was happening."

I feel as though the healer has just announced that the sky is green.

"My mate?"

They nod.

"But I'm a pheromoneless Omega!"

"That is what you've been led to believe." Their voice softens. "It doesn't mean it's true."

I look down at my hands. All my life, I've believed I was an Omega with no scent and no wolf worth mentioning. I've endured the insults, the pitying looks, the certainty that something in me was broken. Now a healer I met minutes ago is telling me the suppressors may have hidden something about me.

And that I have a mate.

It makes no sense. It makes so little sense that my head spins.

"Can I keep taking them?" I ask.

The healer's expression turns serious. "I wouldn't recommend it. If your body is rejecting them, more could make you much worse. You should seek proper advice before using them again."

I swallow. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"For now, rest. Pay attention to how you feel. Don't ignore any new symptoms."

It isn't the answer I want. But I have little choice.

After the healer finishes checking me, I gather the money I have left and pay what I can toward my treatment. My hands shake as I count it out. It isn't enough. It isn't nearly enough.

Shame settles in my stomach like a stone.

I came to Penumbra to earn money for my mother's medicine. Instead I collapsed on my first day and spent part of what little we had left on myself.

Great start, Lyra.

Zach helps me stand. "Come on," he says quietly. "Let's get you somewhere you can rest."

I nod and lean on him as we leave the healing ward.

Whatever happened at that coronation, I can't afford to let it stop me.

My mother is waiting for me.

By the time we reach the castle's hiring area, I'm feeling steadier. My legs still ache and my head still spins a little, but I can walk without leaning on Zach, and that counts for something.

Zach, however, hasn't stopped looking at me like I might collapse again.

We join the line of applicants waiting to be considered. Most are dressed neatly, their backs straight, their expressions hopeful. I try to look like I belong among them. I smooth my hair. I lift my chin. I need this job — need it more than anyone in this line.

The recruiter barely glances at Zach before asking, "Rank?"

"Vampire Omega," Zach says.

The recruiter's expression hardens like cooling wax. "We don't accept Omegas for these positions."

Zach's jaw tightens. "I'm capable of working."

"That isn't the question." The recruiter waves a hand, bored. "You can leave."

I step forward. "But—"

Zach touches my arm before I can say more. "It's fine," he murmurs.

It isn't fine. We both know it. He used his own savings to help pay for my mother's medicine. He travelled all this way, worried about me every step. And now the castle is turning him away because of something he can't change.

I want to argue. I want to tear into this recruiter with every word I've swallowed my whole life. But I know it won't help. It would only cost us both.

The recruiter turns to me. "Name?"

"Lyra."

"Rank?"

I hesitate for the smallest moment.

"Alpha ."

The lie comes out before I can reconsider it. The suppressors have hidden my scent for years — as far as this recruiter can tell, there's nothing unusual about me. Nothing worth questioning.

They look me over once, hand me a plain apron, and point toward the household staff. "You'll be working in the royal residence. Follow instructions, keep your head down, and don't cause trouble."

I take the apron. "Thank you."

The words taste bitter, but I force myself to smile.

I have a job. That's what matters.

Outside, Zach looks deeply unhappy. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and he won't quite meet my eyes.

"I don't like this," he says. "You collapsed, and now you're going into a castle full of people who won't even give me a chance."

"I'll be careful."

"Lyra—"

"I mean it." I straighten my shoulders. "The healer told me what to do. I'll pay attention to how I feel, and I'll ask for help if something happens."

It isn't a complete answer, and we both know it. But I can't turn away now. We need food. My mother needs medicine. And this job is the first real chance I've found to earn enough to help her.

I squeeze his hand. "Go and find somewhere to rest. I'll be all right."

He searches my face, clearly unconvinced. Then he sighs, and something in him gives way.

"Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise."

Zach reluctantly lets go of my hand. I watch him leave — shoulders still hunched, glancing back twice — before I turn toward the castle doors.

The building rises above me, grand and imposing, full of people who will never understand what it cost me to get here.

I adjust my apron and take a deep breath.

I've survived eighteen years of being treated as less than everyone else. Surely I can survive a few days in a palace.

At least, that's what I tell myself as I step inside.

The doors close behind me with a sound like a lock turning.